Woven Steel

CHAPTER 1: A Mandala Bout

In the Abbey of Baelway, cold early autumn sunlight was slanting through high windows into the wide, barn-like practice hall. On most days, ninety-nine out of every hundred, it would have reflected off a plain mottled-tan practice mat. Today, however, it illuminated a brilliant mandala made of colored sand. Bands of rust red, river blue, and dandelion yellow merged into and out of one another, with spokes of silver gray cutting through them and converging at the center. The intent was to invoke the spinning wheel of the goddess Raelle who sat by her hearth at the center of the world, patiently weaving all of creation.

Six initiates, willowy girls of sixteen or so were working at the very edges, placing the last grains and smoothing them into place with flat knives and small wooden blocks. Each of their fresh young faces wore a look of stern concentration. To varying degrees, each face showed a certain amount of anxiety, though not to such an extent any observer would question, for a moment, that each girl knew exactly what she was doing. 

Each had a set of practiced, dexterous hands calloused by long years of practice with weapons as well as almost every form of work pleasing to the goddess. For a sister of the woven shield was expected to be more than a warrior- though she would be that, primarily, eminently, and ferociously. But she was also expected to carry Raelle's order into the world with her, and for that she must know how to work.

So in between long spells of martial training, sisters-to-be spent seasons hauling in nets with the fisherfolk, baling hay and mucking stalls, or sweeping floors in some workshop while learning the rudiments of smithing, weaving, or woodworking – and of course, making mandalas. The six girls finishing the mandala were not only thoroughly used to performing this work, but they were used to doing so under watchful and knowing eyes.

The pagans in the cities to the north were known to make animal sacrifices. Such crude offerings might be appropriate for such crude gods. After all, they were just the ancient deities of forest, field, and sun. Nowadays they might be dressed up in the garb of city merchants, but underneath the surface they were still unmistakably primitive. For Raelle- the master builder, the architect of the universe, the great weaver who spun all of harmonious and perfect creation- a greater sacrifice was required. The product of honest and skillful labor offered up for destruction by a willing, humble and grateful heart.

Only very important bouts were fought over mandalas, and very important bouts usually meant very important guests. This was particularly true today, on the day when this year's class of senior apprentices, after fighting the last practice bouts of their  careers, would become full-fledged Sisters of the Woven Shield.

Behind the rows of young novices in their plain grey frocks, siting patient and cross-legged, today's three guests were seated on a raised platform.  In the center sat Virtue Folwayn, Vice-speaker  of the Council of Virtues. She had travelled all the way from the great cathedral of Arndam, arriving with the sunset that very morning. An imposing, sharp featured, grey-haired woman, she was resplendent in layered robes of cobalt blue. The sumptuous fabric provided a backdrop for a dozen long looping silver chains that were draped about her neck. On her right was Abbess Anya, head of this abbey. The Abbess was used to being the most richly-dressed person in a hundred miles or so, but now looked comparatively plain in her gray silk robes. 

On the Grace's left was a visitor who was unusual for several reasons- on the first count he was male, a rare species indeed in the abbey's clime. On the second, he clearly didn't belong to Raelle's church, bearing no ornament of priesthood or guild mastery. The man had arrived in the retinue of the Virtue and had not as of yet, been introduced to anyone.  He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, just on the young side of middle age, deeply weathered and black haired. He wore a shortsword on his belt, spun around to rest across his lap as he sat.